


Alexandria

by Ophelia_Andiyar



Category: Original Work
Genre: WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 21:15:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1362031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophelia_Andiyar/pseuds/Ophelia_Andiyar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Protagonist wakes in a hospital after having been apprehended for trying to enter a public place after hours. Not much has happened yet, but I'm still working on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alexandria

A vibration pierces the darkness. I cling to it in this void, desperate for some sensation. The harder I focus, the more it becomes.

Bit by bit, the vibration grows, becoming more pervasive, invading every aspect of me. I'm hit with a heaviness; my body aches. A throbbing n my head is exacerbated by an increasingly persistent cacophony. My eyes open too fast; I try again, now wary of the blinding light and their apparent disuse. A sound comes from a dark form at my side. A low cascade of tones, shaping into words, flows around me. His voice surrounds me, barely audible over the sound of industry just beyond the door. I don't know this voice. He doesn't notice when I shift to observe him.

A long, mean looking gun leans against his chair yet he holds a pad in his hands; fingers cradling it as gently as one would their most prized possession. He seems to be reading from it. I don't know the language. It doesn't matter. The words sooth, persuading me to watch this stranger, to try and learn more rather than capitulate to my unease. I come back again, rousing myself from the drowse his voice tempts me to.

As I refocus, my attention falls on his pad again. Sleek yet seemingly durable. An observation I find applicable to his hands as well. The fingers encasing the pad are long and slender. One thumb flicks periodically; to advance the text, I assume. His arms are visibly strong; no hard definition but the planes of his muscles are clear to see as he shifts, leaning forward to prop his elbows against his knees. His head is bent over the pad, as if proximity would allow him to delve into the very words which have so enthralled him. His hair hangs forward, locks more wavy than curly, obscuring his forehead, his eyes. The lights gleam almost white on each crest, melding mahogany into black as the *contours of his hair retreat from the light.* A long sharp nose emerges from beneath the curtain of his hair, framed by high and angular cheekbones. My focus is drawn to his mouth. I am distracted, lost in watching him form each alien word, entrancing me. His lips are full and faintly darker than his dusky skin. Every word formed is precise and smooth. I don't know if my body had been slow to wake up or maybe the honeyed voice had done more than distract me, but my absentminded contemplation is interrupted by an errant, emphatic beep. The stranger's body snaps up, head whipping around. Intense and clear eyes, as deep as amethyst, scan my monitors. My own perusal of the equipment showed no abnormalities. Whatever my body had done, it is content to be normal again. I can feel his gaze on me as I finish my tour of the room. There's a new tenseness in his frame now that he knows I'm awake, yet still he doesn't speak. I refuse to break the silence; not sure of my still untested vocal cords. I eventually run out of objects to feign interest in and finally return my gaze to him. I don't know why I'm embarrassed; why I am reluctant to look this stranger in the eye. It made sense to observe, to try and glean any information about him I could. But I am still left with this sense of guilt, of having intruded on an intimate moment. I must have blushed. A dark eyebrow arches as he furthers his contemplation of me. Again, the silence is broken by the beep of a monitor. I'm quick enough to catch a spike on my heart monitor racing off the screen. I can I can feel the blush deepen as a smirk blossoms across his face. Damn. He saw.

'Feeling nervous?'

I'm almost caught up by his voice again.

Almost

I clear my throat, trying to get a feel for it's state before I try to respond.

'I was contemplating an apology for having watched you read, but I find it oddly unnecessary now. . .'

My voice might have cracked, but I at least get to bask in the glory of a well placed barb. I watch as his face clouds over, dark as a sudden storm.

The radio at his hip crackles to life as he opens his mouth for what will undoubtedly be a scathing retort. A broken voice issues forth, asking something I can't quite hear. My hopes of obtaining more information are dashed as my glowering stranger answers in what I assume to be code in a language I only have the most basic grasp of. He looks me over, glaring.

'How long?'

'What?'

'How long have you been awake?'

I shrug at the room at large. 'Not really in a state to keep time.'

That merits another eye roll.

'Fine. Why didn't you make your consciousness known?'

'I'll leave that to you, Rambo.' my attempt at an eloquent gesture is hindered by my tubing, but the stranger gets my point.

His features soften. Apparently he hadn't considered the possibility of such a situation being unsettling to a person. His eyes flick over me again, seeming to weigh me, to judge me.

'The doctors said you might have some short term memory loss. Do you remember anything?'

'Personal info. Name, age, where I hail from. I think it's just recent events I'm fuzzy on.'

'Well, firstly, my name is Mazen. You are in a hospital in Alexandria in Egypt. You've been unconscious for a day.'

My heart goes into overdrive, the machines bleating in response.

I made it. . .

All I've wanted my entire life is to walk among the scrolls of Alexandria. My Mecca. My obsession. Ever since I learned about the library of Alexandria already years into my addiction to the written word, I knew that traveling there, walking the halls would be my life's ambition. All those years studying the history, the architecture; learning dead languages when I could. I still can't read the scrolls, but I can at least croon to them in their native tongues. The world blurs for a moment as I consider the proximity of my success.

My eyes focus again as a shadow looms over me; a warmth settles on my shoulder. Amusement and concern radiate from Mazen, annoyance forgotten for the moment.

'And why is Alexandria so important you go faint at the knowledge of your arrival?'

'Books! Scrolls! The written word!'

My monitors beep frantically. I've got to stop getting so excited. At least until I've escaped these damn machines.

And he laughs. The bastard laughs at my errant machines and at me.

'Is that why we found you scaling the library? You couldn't wait the ten extra hours to see the scrolls?'

His words trigger an avalanche of images. Arriving at Alexandria; finding my hotel; realizing I took too long and would have to wait another day. Sitting outside, gazing longingly at the embodiment of my life's ambitions. Loud music dances through my head. I had gone to a bar. Having abandoned my vigil, the only activity left to me was pickling my vitals. There. That was when my night really went south. A sympathetic group of college kids sidled up to me. We chat, they offer a solution to my woes in the form of a perpetually unlocked window. I'm told it's easy to climb. No, they assure me, I don't need any equipment. In fact, I should leave everything at the hotel. Then I saw what I would be scaling. Well hell, I was there, why wouldn't I try? I could feel the scrolls calling out to me. I had waited so long already. Then followed the fall.

The stranger stands there, had apparently forgotten on my shoulder (or maybe he just thinks I'll try to storm the library again should be release me). He watches as I contemplate the aforementioned events, a half-smile lingering to lighten his features.

I seem to recall quite a bit of alcohol being an accessory to that particular foray into poor life choices.'

A dazzling smile blooms as another laugh issues from him.

'A great many stories seem to start that way. Who are you?'

My answer is derailed by men in matching uniforms entering. A flurry of discussion ensues, the same unknown language freeing my mind to walk the events leading me here one more time. Many suspicious and even angry glances are shot in my direction as the exchange carries on. Not that I can blame them. I'd be angry, too. Thankfully, though, my stranger's apparent impression of me seems to soften the attitudes of more than a few of the well armed gentlemen in my vicinity. He of greatest aggression deigns to acknowledge me.

'You will remain in this room until the medical staff deem you well enough to leave. Your transgression shall be dealt with then.'

Maybe it's the heavy accents, maybe it's the presence of guns, but something about the man's manner has my hackles up. The others stand rigid as he continues.

'As this is not likely to be for another few days and as Mazen here is so amused by your exploits, he will keep you company and ensure your good behavior.'

A glance at my not quite stranger is enough to reveal a shared sense of ambiguity on this recent development.

The ambiguity doesn't last as a quick comment from another replaces it with a scowl. Before anything can build up, though, a lady in a white lav coat strides in. She looks around, rolls her eyes, and points to the door, ordering the men out. Mazen glances at Mr. Testosterone and deepens his scowl. Shifting his gaze, he locks eyes with who I take to be the doctor, and lowers himself back into his chair. Another eye roll, this time accompanied by a huff, and she's at my side. The other men file out as she takes my vitals. A few notes later and she finally addresses me.

'Miss Sallah Rosalinda Cortez, age twenty-seven, resident of the United States of America. You have not done your people a service with your endeavor.'

Now it's my turn to sigh.

'Yeah. Certainly not one of my finer moments. Drunk and disappointed make for poor bedfellows.'

'Well, you will be happy to know you will be able to leave soon, though taking Capt. Pompous into account, you just might want to stay here. . . Point is, you've been here for a day already, unconscious, recovering from multiple contusions, and swelling of the brain. Your injuries are pretty much healed. The next few days are mostly for observation. If you need anything, let me know.'

A swirl of coat later and Mazen and I are alone. Awkward.

'Welp. That was fun. I'm just going to test out that whole 'sleep heals' theory. Enjoy your reading. Or, whatever.

Jeebus am I ever so smooth. The embarrassment is thankfully easily rectified by some (mostly) effective flopping as I search for the most comfortable position. I finally manage a serviceable cocoon of sheets, blankets, and pillows (fighting with the wires spying on my bio-metrics) and new weights plop on me. My head shoots up to facilitate a baleful glare in Mazen's general direction.

The jackwagon has the audacity to chuckle at me!

'And what, exactly, do you think you're doing?'

'Couldn't read. Your chattering teeth were audible even through your nest. Figured a few more blankets would help to drown out the sound. Also, now getting some manner of payback for your earlier eavesdropping.'

He strolls forward and starts to unfold the blankets, casually tossing them over me. My protests die as each new layer brings a new level of warmth. Until, that is, I feel a distinct compression about my feet.

'What the hell?'

Strong hands continue to mummify me with blankets.

'You'll retain more hear like this. And it makes my job easier if you decide to take a stroll.'

'Resistance is futile.' flashes through my head and I turn my efforts to further burrowing into the blankets. My body feels like lead, and warmth envelopes me. But it's no good. The persistent beeps and whirs of my various monitors intrude on my drowse. I squirm about to face my unwilling captor, poking my head out enough to observe him. He's sitting as he had before, elbows planted on knees. The only difference I can discern is the lack of audible sound. Mazen's lips still move as his eyes glide across the tablet, clearly relishing the feel of the words on his tongue. Something must have tipped him off to my vigil as his head lifts and his eyes lock on mine. A quirk of an eyebrow and a faint smirk preface his teasing.

'Trying to listen in again?'

Just amused by your seeming need to say what you read.'

'Anyone who reads this must need to read it aloud. Theses words are meant to be heard, not just seen.'

Damn. Checkmate.

'The machines were keeping me awake. You and your gun are the only things worth studying in here. One hospital room is much like another.'

Mazen glances from me to the book, and back again before considering the rest of the room.

'I could read aloud, if that would minimize the disturbance from the machines. . .'

The offer stuns me for a moment. I must still be suffering from head trauma since even the promise of hearing his voice again is enough for me to start relaxing. I recover soon enough, though, and muster my own smirk.

'You just want me quiet and unconscious so you can really get back to your reading.'

tbc

**Author's Note:**

> First time really posting anything and reviews would be greatly appreciated!


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